Archive for ‘Guest Blogger’

I’m thrilled to be the maid of honor in my friend’s wedding, but the best man, Andrew McCormick, is a chauvinistic pig with a God complex.

And I can’t stop kissing him in closets.

(Don’t ask.)

He’s the brother of the groom and the CEO of my biggest mystery shopping account, but suddenly he’s refusing to be in the wedding. He won’t talk about it. Won’t see reason.

He’s such a man.

And he still won’t stop kissing me in random closets.

(Thank goodness.)

I’m a fixer. That’s what I do. I can fix anything if given the chance. But when the game is fixed there’s only so much I can do.

The ball’s in his court now.

Game on.

* * *

Shopping for a CEO is the 7th book in the New York Times and USA Today bestselling Shopping series. When CEO Andrew McCormick and mystery shopper Amanda Warrick find themselves in the unlikely position as maid of honor and best man in the Boston society wedding of the year, an undeniable attraction and dual stubborn streaks add fuel to the fire in this romantic comedy from Julia Kent.

“The wedding is in July, Mom,” Amy calls back. “In Massachusetts. If you’re going to make all those men wear wool kilts and socks, they’ll probably gratefully go without underwear just to prevent heat exhaustion.”

Marie nods. “Good point.”

“But then there’s the issue of ball sweat,” Amy adds.

Marie frowns and jots down notes on a sticky pad. “Ball sweat? That’s a real thing?”

Amy nods. “They make a special product for it.”

“There’s a product to cure ball sweat? Balls have sweat glands? Where do they hide the pores? And how do you know this?”

“Venture capital project at my internship. They’re coming out with a new product for breast sweat.”

“Now that I know about first hand,” Marie says with a knowing nod. “Breasts do more work than people appreciate. The Girls work up a sweat on a regular basis.”

Considering the fact that Marie hasn’t been pregnant or breastfed in well over two decades, I don’t really want to know what kind of ‘work’ her chest girls have been up to.

Shannon walks in. Chuckles runs to cuddle with her ankles, then rubs his butthole all over her calf.

“Hi to you too, Chuckles. That’s exactly how Declan greets me most nights.”

“Ewwwww,” Amy says, plugging her ears. “I hear enough about Mom’s sex life. Don’t need to know more about yours.”

“Honey, does Declan have a problem with ball sweat?”

“Huh?” Shannon gives Amy an evil look. “What have you been telling her?”

“Amy says the groom and groomsmen will need testicle powder if I ask them to go commando for the wedding.”

“Testicle powder? Is that going to be a wedding favor?”

“Do they make such a thing?” Marie asks, interest piqued.

“Sure,” Amy says. “Personalized bottles and everything. Think of the possibilities. Shannon and Declan, Dry Forever, with the date stamped on there and a logo of a dove. People will forever associate your wedding with smooth sacs.”

Author bio and web/social media links

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.

She loves to hear from her readers by email at jkentauthor@gmail.com, on Twitter @jkentauthor, and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor . Visit her website at JKentAuthor.com.

Aegis – the shield of Zeus, and by extension, a means of protection. The men and women who are members of Club Aegis have all played their part in protecting their country. They work hard…and they play hard. Their lives are not always easy – and sometimes they have to put their lives on the line, not just for their country but for those they love.

Alex Lombard is a Dom with a dark past. The former SAS officer, now a successful businessman, carries the scars of his past both on his body and in PTSD-induced nightmares resulting from more than just his service to his country. The light in his life takes the form of his assistant, Beth Harrison, the woman whom he has secretly coveted since she came to work for him.

Beth has been attracted to her employer from the day she met him. When not at work, she fills her time with writing stories featuring the BDSM lifestyle she craves but has not yet found the courage to explore. Though she knows nothing of his extra-curricular interests, Alex is the inspiration for the Dom in her latest novel.

Then Alex makes a chance discovery, and when Beth becomes the victim of a street crime, the two of them come together to find what is missing from both their lives. However, their path to happiness is beset not just by the teething troubles of a new relationship—a ghost from Alex’s past has returned, bent on revenge, and Alex is not the only one in his sights…

NOTE: This work was previously published. It has been retitled, expanded and re-edited for this release.

Blurb: Love Is Danger (Club Aegis 2)

Having only just dumped her lecherous two-timing boyfriend, Stacie Matheson never expected, when her car broke down in a storm, to be rescued by a tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed knight in a shining Jaguar. Cam is everything her ex was not—and more besides.

Now that his old friend Alex has settled into married life with his submissive, Beth, Cameron Fraser is ready to surrender his single status. What he isn’t ready for is being blindsided by a beautiful curvy damsel-in-distress.

Fate has brought them together – the Dom who needs a submissive, and the woman who takes her first steps into the world of submission at his side. However, there’s more to Cam’s life than the sensual games he plays with Stacie. When that life intrudes on their relationship, neither is prepared for the devastating consequences.

Blurb: A Wanting Heart (Club Aegis 2.5)

What happens when a former Royal Navy officer is given a second chance with the woman he loves?

Ryan Quinn is still in love with the woman he lost three years ago. For him, there can be no other. When he sees Fiona again at her sister’s wedding, he has no choice but to risk his heart for a second time, by reminding her of what they once shared.

How wrong can a woman be?

Tragic and complicated family circumstances had left Fiona Pearce with no option but to turn her back on the man she loved and drive him out of her life. When his path crosses hers again, she feels compelled to apologise, even though she fears she may be opening old wounds that are best left undisturbed.

Events take an unexpected turn, giving Ryan the opportunity to suggest that they go away together for a few days. To his surprise, Fiona agrees. In the remote cottage their love is rekindled, but it takes a blizzard to erase the past and allow them to start finding out who they really are – together.

NOTE: This is a previously published work. The title, author, and/or publisher may have changed.

Author Bio

When she isn’t actually writing, Christie is often thinking about writing – either the book she’s currently working on, or one of the dozen other stories she’ll have percolating away at the back of her mind.

In addition to writing, she also loves lazing around with a good book, or browsing the internet in search of cute pictures of dogs and puppies, a pastime that often helps with writer’s block – or so she claims. She likes James Bond movies, and cries at the end of “You’ve Got Mail” every time.

Good chocolate is also one of her passions in life, often accompanied by a glass of her favourite tipple, English sparkling wine. And if she can be persuaded to abandon her writing for a while, she finds that chocolate, wine and a good movie on TV is an excellent way to pass a dark winter’s evening.

The sound of heels on hardwood provided the metronomic fanfare that alerted Alex to the imminent arrival of Beth Harrison—his executive assistant, right-hand woman and, of late, source of growing frustration. He looked up from the correspondence in his hand, eyes narrowing at her approaching reflection in the tinted window that gave him a panoramic view over London.

Those damn fuck-me shoes! A muscle tensed in his tightly clenched jaw. While her working wardrobe went from black to white, with every shade of grey between, her footwear was downright rebellious—immaculate heels, never less than four inches in height, in a myriad selection of styles and eye-catching colours.

Which ones today? It was a question that crossed Alex’s mind every morning. He’d never considered himself to have any kind of shoe fetish until Beth came to work for him. Every morning it was the same, and the litany of colours was ever-expanding. As for today—would it be the peacock blue? Or the metallic purple, perhaps? He was rather fond of the latter.

No, today it was a new pair…new to the office, at any rate. The vivid red patent leather heels, with an ankle strap adorned with an eye-catching bow, were incredibly flattering to her slender feet and shapely ankles…and those gorgeous legs clad in sheer black nylon with seams straighter than an arrow. Oh, the fantasies he’d had about having those legs wrapped around his hips while he sank his cock into her lush body, felt her contract hard around him, heard her panting cries as he spilled inside her at the moment of her climax…

His eyes continued upward, taking in the flannel-grey pencil skirt—the fabric clinging to her curves, so fitted that it gave her hips an ultra-feminine sway as she walked. He experienced a sharp, momentary twinge of disappointment; for the lines to be that smooth, there was no way she was wearing stockings. He tried to curb his disappointment that beneath the skirt, there would be no tantalising exposure of creamy skin at the top of her thighs.

She wore the crisp, brilliant white cotton blouse with the top buttons undone, hinting at a delicious cleavage, the long sleeves fastened at her delicate wrists with mock cufflinks. French-manicured nails tipped elegant fingers that clasped a notebook and pen.

And then there was her face: heart-shaped, lightly made-up, alluring green eyes behind unremarkable spectacles, all crowned by upswept, luxuriant, brown hair threaded with gold, and not one strand out of place. In the three years that she’d been his assistant, he’d never seen her anything less than cool, calm and utterly professional.

What he’d give to see her come apart under the force of the orgasms he could give her.

When Jake Munroe moves into his new apartment he has no idea the woman of his dreams is literally right next door. She’s beautiful, sexy, and frustratingly elusive. Finding the right time to make his move seems like it will never come, until she walks through the doors of his nightclub.

Sally isn’t looking for a new relationship but when Jake appears in her life, she grabs the opportunity to partake in some sexual healing. Her ex-husband left her convinced she could never sexually excite or satisfy a man, but those rule don’t seem to apply to Jake. He wants her—at least for now.

Desire rules us all and Jake’s desire for Sally is unequalled to anything he’s experienced before. He wants her in his life and is determined to have her, no matter what it takes. When he thinks he’s finally made Sally his own, he discovers a horrible truth. Sally has kept their relationship hidden from everyone she knows and Jake refuses to be anyone’s secret plaything.

Also available from iTunes, Barnes and Noble, Nook, and Kobo, just type in the book or author name to acquire the listing.

Excerpt

Something icy cold pressed against Sally’s arm and she felt another chill run through her. She raised her head and stared at the large glass of water in front of her.

“You’re probably dehydrated. You hardly stopped dancing all night.” The deep, smooth voice washed over her, causing her body to begin to heat once more.

Sally turned her head toward the warmth and when she finally managed to focus her eyes, she wanted to moan in ecstasy. If there really was a God then he had truly out done himself. The man smiling down at her was perfection. He sat on the bar stool next to her, leaning against the wall. His hair was dark, almost black and hung just below his broad shoulders in long tantalizing waves. It sat brushed back from his face at the front, except for one stray curly strand that had worked its way loose to kiss up against his cheekbone.

His eyes were dark like his hair and conveyed the same warmth as his voice. His lips were thick and lush, ideal for kissing. As her gaze roamed down his body, she was taken by the hard chest and abs that were defined under his tight T-shirt, his legs were a lengthy example of perfection, muscular thighs under dark denim, and a bulge—Sally snapped her eyes back to his face and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

“Drink.” He leaned forward and spoke softly into her ear.

Oh, how could a man smell so divine? She had never smelt a man like him before. Sally’s pussy started to tingle, as he watched her bring the glass to her lips, and take a refreshing drink. She inhaled deeply. Accents of cinnamon and spice tantalized her nostrils. Talk about olfactory heaven.

“I just thought I’d sit here while I waited for my friends.” Sally had no idea why she felt the need to explain her presence to him and couldn’t understand why he looked at her with a wry smile as she spoke.

“I think they’ve left.” He gestured toward the dance floor.

“Oh God, I fell asleep didn’t I?” Sally was horrified once she realized the house lights were on and the dance floor empty. In fact the whole club was empty except for a few bar staff who were cleaning up.

“We cleared everyone out and closed the club about forty minutes ago.” He was smiling at her as he spoke. “You looked so peaceful I thought I’d let you sleep until I was ready to leave.”

Sally gasped when his body brushed against hers as he bent forward, a blaze of heat stroking her body where he touched. She noticed how his gaze roamed along her stockinged legs as he bent to pick up her shoes. As he returned to an upright position, his lips brushed against her leg and he planted a kiss on the lace that sat mid-thigh. She wanted to move, to push her wayward hemline back in place. Instead she just stared at the heated point where his lips had been, feeling the warmth spread upward toward her quickly moistening pussy.

“Nice stockings.” He stated as he took her hand and assisted her in stepping down from the stool. Sally wasn’t sure how she did it, but she managed to pull the hem of her dress back into position as he led her through a door and down a hallway to the club’s back entrance.

About the Author

Writing a bio that lets readers know who you are is tricky at times because I describe myself in so many ways. Like my books, I fall into different genres, all of which depend on my mood and inspiration at the time. I am a writer, a submissive, an orphan, a widow, a sister, an aunt, a friend, and sometimes, a wild child.

I live in Australia and writing is my passion, although finding the time to do it on a consistent basis is always a challenge for me. Life sends you curve balls when least expected them and I’ve had my fair share over the last few of years.

My writing currently falls under a variety of genres including BDSM, contemporary romance, and romantic suspense but who knows where my literary future will lead. That’s going to be the next exciting chapter of my life.

More information about what I’m up to, and general nonsense, is available by checking out my online hangouts.

Good Manors is the latest offering from the Queen of Smut, Victoria Blisse. Part of the ‘What’s Her Secret Series’ of books from Totally Bound, this is a novel with twists, turns, secrets and steaming hot erotic encounters.

Set in an English country Manor, Victoria’s novel has a uniquely British feel and gives a glimpse behind the scenes of the aristocracy including its seedier side. Told from the point of view of both of the main characters, you see through the eyes of both the secret keeper and the one kept in the dark.

Blurb:

Mallard Hall plays host to games of submission and Dominance for one unique couple, but do the secrets of the past threaten the new bonds being forged?

India Grace, a respected journalist, is assigned to the estate for a behind the scenes look at how it runs. It is the last place in the world she wants to be. Back when she was young and naïve she took a photo of old Lord Mallard, which led to her success and his downfall. She carries the guilt with her to the location and it’s constantly in the back of her mind when she meets the hall’s latest owner, Xander Patrick.

Xander’s father died when he was only thirteen, and he doesn’t hold many good memories of him. He helped his mum build Mallard Hall back up, and since her death struggles to keep it going single-handedly. The last thing he needs is a meddling journalist poking into estate business, especially when the meagre profits are mysteriously disappearing.

The two try to keep their distance but find themselves drawn together in many unexpected ways. A meal leads to an investigation of secret passageways and from that India and Xander explore their attraction, using different rooms of the hall for their kinky games.

In the end India’s secret will have to come out, but will it bring the couple closer together or tear them apart?

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of light BDSM and voyeurism.

General Release Date: 15th September 2015

Excerpt:

“What did I say about interrupting?” I sighed tetchily.

“Sorry, Sir.” She dipped her head. “But you knew about the passages, right? Why didn’t you use those?”

“Well, you won’t do it anymore.” I unlooped my tie and pressed it against her cheek. “I’m going to gag you so I can finish my story. If at any point you get uncomfortable with what’s happening raise your hand and I’ll untie you. Okay?”

“Yes, Sir.” She nodded.

I gave her a couple of moments more, just in case she wanted to use her safe word, but when she stayed silent, I wrapped my royal blue tie around her mouth and knotted it at the back securely. I ran a finger down the back to check it wasn’t too tight then cupped her face in my hands and dropped a kiss delicately in the middle of her forehead.

“Right, maybe now I can actually finish my story in peace.” I kissed her cheek right above the line of the tie.

“So, as I was about to say, I didn’t want to reveal the passageways to her because she might pass that information on, to Mum, to outsiders. I didn’t want that at all. So I searched the house and believe me, that’s no small feat. Finally, I found the attic, with the same warning sign that hangs on the stairs now.

“I cautiously ignored it, pushed on and discovered this. It was the perfect place to bring Ariana. It was here I discovered she had kinks. I mean, I was a naïve virgin…”

She snapped her head round to look at me.

“Yes, virgin. Anyway, I was just eager to fuck to be truthful and she was incredibly patient with me. I set up dozens of candles in here that first night. I thought it was romantic and you know, it looked spectacular. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, but she did. After we fucked—I’m not afraid to say it was a short and fairly straightforward experience—she asked me to pour hot candle wax over her breasts. I didn’t know much, I thought it was weird, but if the lady who’d just happily taken my virginity wanted me to drip hot wax all over her then I was going to do it.”

India made a noise, muffled by the tie, which I’m sure was an indication of arousal.

“She went crazy, bucking under the stream. I was fascinated how it went from liquid to solid on her skin. She had me pick the cooled wax from her skin as I fucked her—that was an interesting balancing act. I loved the red marks that lingered, my marks left on her, physical evidence of what we’d done. I realized then—the very first time I had sex—that it was better with a bit of kink. I also found out that Ariana was submissive. She taught me all I know.

“So I like to come up here and remember. Remember all the good times. Mum sacked her when she found out we were—well, I can’t say dating, we never went on a date—fucking. I never saw her again.” I looked away from India at that moment, I knew there’d be sympathy in her eyes. I looked back to check on her once I was convinced I wouldn’t see it.

“So I keep some souvenirs of the old days up here.” I reached over behind the pile of pillows and pulled out a coiled-up length of rope, a candle and a flogger and placed them on the blanket before India. “Would you like to play?”

India nodded.

“Good.” I reached back again and after a little rummaging pulled out a box of matches and lit the chunky cream candle before me. “If at any point you’re not happy with what’s happening shake your head. I will stop the moment I see that sign. That will be your non-vocal safe word. If you understand and you’re happy with that, nod now.”

India nodded eagerly.

“Wonderful. Okay, stand up.”

India stood, and I helped her kick off her shoes, then undid her top and pulled it away from her. I let her keep her skirt for the time being. I stroked over her shoulders and down her arms. I looked her in the eye and I saw a world of desire painted in her gaze.

“Come with me.” I held her hand and walked her toward my favorite beam. It was the kind of beam developers hate. A little above waist height, it made walking through the middle of the room a pain. But I loved its old, weathered wood and the height was perfect for what I wanted to do.

I escorted India over to the beam and lay her arm flat along it.

“Keep it there,” I said and walked round her to smooth the other arm flat. I stood back and flipped up her skirt. It was a beautiful sight—India bent forward, arse presented to me. “Don’t move.”

Hurrying across the floorboards, I picked up the rope and flogger in one hand and the candle in the other. I settled the candle just beyond her reach at the left hand side of the beam, then unwrapped the bundle of rope until I had enough to encompass her wrist. She twisted her head to watch as I tied then coiled the rope once, twice, three times around her wrist and the beam.

“Now, I could loop this over your neck and hold that down too but since you’re gagged I won’t do that.” I just ran the rope underneath her and to the other arm.

She shifted and looked at me again as I wound the other wrist to the beam.

“Is that okay?” I asked, very much aware of how vulnerable she was and both turned on and grateful for her submission.

India nodded, narrowly avoiding hitting the beam with her chin.

“Good, if it gets too much just shake your head, don’t stop shaking it. If I see that I will stop immediately, understand?”

She nodded, and I stroked down from the top of her head, through her long luscious hair onto her back and over her buttocks. The subdued moan she made intensified a moment later when I rubbed down between her buttocks and cupped her pussy in my hand.

“Full of sexy encounters and a gut wrenching confession Good Manors is a great page turner.” Alison Grieg

“I loved the writing on this book, it was engaging and sexy, with a hint of intrigue.” Momof3infl

About Victoria:

Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and award winning erotica author. She is also the editor of several Bigger Briefs collections, and the co-editor of the fabulous Smut Alfresco, Smut in the City and Smut by the Sea Anthologies.

Victoria is also one of the brains behind the fabulous Smut events, days and nights dedicated to erotica, fun and prizes. Check out http://ilovesmut.uk for more details.

She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories.

Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

An unwitting academic stumbles into the erotically-charged occult underworld of Victorian London. With a cast of characters including an investigator with a talent for seduction, a mesmerist collecting a harem of beautiful ladies, and a woman who believes she has had sex with Satan, Sexual Sorcery is a sizzling story of decadence, conspiracy and carnality.

When a collection of books go missing from the University’s collection, Fredrick Clifford travels to London in search of the likely culprit, an apparently respectable gentleman named Victor Braystone. But he soon finds that he is not the only one with an interest in Mr Braystone, and the manipulative Catherine Wolseley soon draws him into her own schemes.

As he, Miss Wolseley and their seductive accomplice begin to unravel Mr Braystone’s plots, Fredrick Clifford finds himself both confused and entrapped in a shocking world of of sex and duplicity. And as the trail leads him from the seductions of a London club to a Satanic altar in the wilds of the Welsh borders, he struggles to make sense of both the dark uncertainties of the occult, and of an unfamiliar realm of debauchery and sex.

C M Fontana is a British erotic author, fusing plots of mystery, intrigue, and the supernatural with racy erotica. The first full-length novels, Sexual Sorcery, was published for Kindle in September 2015, with two novellas continuing the series released soon after.

By Saturday morning, Fredrick had still not had time to visit the agency to advertise for a new domestic servant, and he was becoming heartily sick of bread and marmalade for breakfast – or, indeed, for any other meal that he could not reasonably eat out. It was also an irritation that he had to answer his own front door, and now he found himself greeted at his front step by a small grubby boy, in bare feet and ragged trousers, presenting him with a sealed envelope.

He took the letter, tipped the boy a coin, and closed the door.

The paper was expensive, that handwriting feminine. Inside, a note simply read:

Two o’clock. My carriage will collect you. We cannot have gaps in your education as a gentleman. Please be an attentive student. Such classes are not inexpensive.

And that was all. He assumed that it was from Miss Wolseley, and resigned himself to having to follow her cryptic instructions. In the meantime, he thought, he would finish his newspaper, and then visit the agency to and see if they could alleviate his domestic difficulties.

And so, soon after lunchtime, after a satisfactory visit to the agency he found on returning to his house a familiar carriage parked outside.

“My good man, am I late?”

“Not at all Sir,” the gruff coachman tipped his hat. “I’m early. Take your time, Sir. We aren’t due til ‘alf past.”

Fredrick re-emerged promptly at two o’clock, and climbed into the carriage, and sat back while it bounced and swerved through the city’s congested streets. Out of the window he saw gentrified houses, and, as the traffic moved slowly on the main roads, although the journey was barely two miles, it took over twenty minutes. He was relieved to find that they stopped in a fashionable West End street.

He stepped down from the carriage, and the coachman indicated the door across the road.

He crossed the street and rapped with the brass door knocker.

Promptly, the door was opened, and a short, grey haired maid opened the door.

“Fredrick Clifford,” he introduced himself. “I may be expected?”

“Of course,” the maid curtseyed, with a hint of an accent, perhaps Italian or French, and stepped back to let him in.

She took his coat, hat and cane, and then led him up the stairs, and into a well furnished sitting room. Tall windows let light flood into the room through lace curtains, the room was decked with a range of plushly upholstered chairs and settees, the largest of which, unusually, seemed to be the size of a single bed, but with ornate arms and a high back.

The maid motioned him to take a seat in a plush chair by the window. She assured him, “I will say that you have arrived,” and then withdrew.

As he waited, he looked around. The décor was, the more he considered the details, eccentric.

Not only were the chairs unusually deeply upholstered, and the main sofa far wider than was needed, but there were numerous sturdy hooks, which looked like they might have hung chandeliers before gas lighting was installed, both in the ceiling and also, inexplicably in the skirting board at the foot of the wall. There was also a faint but spicy scent in the air, which he suspected might be incense – an unusual scent to encounter outside of a High or Catholic church.

The door opened, and he turned to see a tall, graceful woman step into the room. She wore a red silk robe like a dressing gown, and around her neck an ornate necklace of black beads. Her brown hair hung loosely in flowing curls, cascading over her shoulders, and Fredrick’s eyes were drawn further down, to the sides of her firm breasts, indecently visible where the two sides of the robe met.

“I’m so sorry!” he instinctively stood up and turned his back on her, to stare fixedly out of the window.

“And why, Mr Clifford, are you sorry?” The voice was soft, the accent unmistakably continental.

“I am… that is to say…” He could barely hear her approach, her bare feet on the carpet. “Perhaps I should return when you are properly dressed.”

Her voice, now just over his shoulder, chided, “Mr Clifford, I was told that you were a gentleman.”

“Well, yes!” he replied, indignantly.

“And is it polite, when a lady enters a room, turn your back on her, and then proceed to criticise her choice of clothing.”

“Well, I… there is a question of what is appropriate!”

“Your lessons today,” she corrected him, “are to deal instead with the question of what is courteous – gentlemanly. You may be quite right about what is appropriate. But this afternoon, that is not our subject.”

To Frederick, what was gentlemanly and what was appropriate seemed intimately connected. But Miss Wolseley had, presumably, some purpose in sending him here.

“I apologise,” he conceded, turning to face her. It would be a shame to argue with such an attractive hostess.

She smiled and inclined her head. “Then shall we start again?”

Fredrick nodded.

The woman turned and walked softly back to the door. He watched her robe sway against her legs, and was impressed by her grace. She left the room, and shut the door after herself. Fredrick sat down again, and waited.

She held out her hand, palm down, and he took it gently, and bowed slightly as he motioned to kiss it. He could not help, bending forward, but appreciate the gentle curve of her breasts, barely draped in thin red silk.

“Signorina Maria Cenci,” she replied with a hint of a curtsey. “Charmed to meet you, Sir.”

She motioned him across to the wide sofa, strewn with cushions, and when he sat she took a seat next to him. Her robe fell open at the knee, revealing her slender, pale calf, and Fredrick made an effort not to look too intently.

The door opened again, and the elderly maid entered, carrying a tray, which she set down on the table by the settee.

“Milk and sugar, Mr Clifford?” Signorina Cenci asked.

“Please, yes.”

“Tell me Mr Clifford, she asked, as she poured the tea and the maid withdrew, “how should a gentleman behave towards a lady?”

Fredrick considered for a moment, and then, taking the cup and saucer offered to him, replied: “A gentleman should always be respectful.”

“And why is that important?” she asked. And when Fredrick had no ready answer, she clarified, “Why should a gentleman be respectful to a lady, and not, perhaps, to a tree or stone?”

“Obviously, trees and stones don’t have feelings!”

“So when you say respectful, you mean that you should be aware of the lady’s feelings?”

“Quite so,” Fredrick said, taking another sip of tea and then setting the cup aside. “The male is the stronger sex. It is our duty to protect, both physically and mentally, the frailer gender. It shows us to be civilized human beings, and not savages.”

“And so,” Signorina Cenci asked, “you see that, if a man turns his back on a woman as she enters the room, she might be upset. In which case, the gentlemanly response is to greet her courteously, perhaps?”

“But is it also gentlemanly,” she teased, “as you bend down to kiss her hand, to stare so intently at her breasts?”

Fredrick blushed, “I am so sorry, Madam, I didn’t intend to.”

She laughed, and stood. “Then shall we try again?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

She left her tea cup on the table, walked to the door, turned, paused, and then returned towards the sofa.

Fredrick stood, stepped forward, and took her hand when she offered it. This time, as he bent and motioned to kiss her hand, he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

Again Signorina Cenci laughed.

“Mr Clifford,” she smiled, placing her hand on his arm. “Do you really think that if a lady deliberately appears dressed like this – ” she raised her other hand to her neck and let her index finger slowly trace a line along the hem of the robe, down her chest, over the mound of her breast “ – that she does not want to be admired?”

“Really, Madam, I protest,” Fredrick sighed, “You say that I should not stare, and now you say that I should stare. What am I to do?”

“Mr Clifford, you are to be a gentleman. You are to behave with consideration for the lady’s feelings.” Seeing that he was still confused, she continued. “If you stare dumbly at my chest – “ she turned slightly, so that he could fully appreciate the silhouette of her breasts – “I might consider the stare to be aggressive, or I might worry that you are no longer capable of rational thought. You are still capable of thought, Sir?”

He raised his eyes from the curve of her robe, to look her in the eye again. “Yes, of course.”

“But if you ignore me entirely, I might think that I have failed to impress you, or that you consider me ugly. You do not consider me ugly, do you?”

“No! Of course not!”

“Then, Mr Clifford, please, stop trying to guess what the rules are. There is but one rule to being a gentleman. Consideration for the feelings of the other person. And so, consider my feelings, and act accordingly.”

“Very well,” Fredrick acquiesced.

“Then shall we try once more?”

She walked back to the door, and again turned to face him. She paused for a moment. “Are you ready, Sir?”

Fredrick nodded.

She ran her finger down the front of her robe, and deliberately opened the gap at her chest a little further, so that the sides of both breasts were quite bare. “Are you certain?”

Fredrick paused for just a second and then answered confidently: “Yes, Madam.”

Signora Cenci walked across the room, her hips swaying, and held out her hand, palm down.

Fredrick took her hand. As he bowed and raised it towards his mouth, he let his eyes glance over her soft flesh, and at the lowest point of his bow he glanced up to look her in the eye. Then he looked back towards her hand as he stood, and looked her in the eye again, keeping a lingering hold of her hand before releasing her.

“Mr Clifford!” she smiled, “Have you not been taught that it is too forward, even impertinent, to look a lady in the eye as you kiss her hand?”

“Signora Cenci,” he countered, “From the way that you adjusted your gown, I understood that you wanted me to be forward, even impertinent.”

“Bravo!” she clapped her hands three times and smiled. “Please sit, and explain to me your strategy.”

As they both sat down, he on her right, she on his left, he explained. “I trust that you wanted,” he glanced again at the curve of her breast, “to be appreciated, but with discretion. And I gathered that you would not mind a little impertinence. When I first looked up at your eyes, you could have looked away, but you did not. And so I inferred that a little more impertinence might be in order before I released your hand.”

“Perfect, Mr Clifford! You considered my feelings, and acted accordingly. One might almost say, appropriately?”

Fredrick smiled, “Yes, I think that you have proved that point.”

“Which is exactly why you are here,” she explained. She put her right hand behind her on the settee and turned her body towards him. “I am told that you are an intelligent, educated gentleman. But you have been taught to be a gentleman by following a set of rules. And now you find yourself in situations where the rules do not seem to work. Situations for which no rules have been written. Is this so?”

Fredrick nodded, “Increasing so, it seems.”

“And you are particularly unsure how to deal, in certain, unusual situations, with ladies?”

“I understand how to make polite conversation,” he admitted, “but there there are things, I find, that I do not really understand.”

“And that is why you have been sent to me,” Signora Cenci smiled. “Because if you are to be a gentleman in these situations, you will be more confident, yes?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“And to be a gentleman you need only two things. You need to act with consideration or the other person. And you need to understand what the other person wants. You see?”

“Theoretically, I suppose.”

“At this moment, yes, quite theoretically. Because you do not know enough about what a woman wants, and so you cannot treat her…. appropriately. So we shall give you a basic understanding.”

She looked at him, saying nothing more.

He felt that he was expected to react in some way, but had no idea how.

“Mr Clifford,” she flicked her long hair over her shoulder, and then lowered her hand to her knee, where she parted her robe a little. “You are alone with a woman who has chosen to greet you in a quite indecorous outfit – so indecorous, that she has not even troubled to put on underwear, but instead has nothing between you and her but a single layer of very soft, very thin silk. And now she has sat mere inches from you, turned her body towards you, and is now waiting for you. Can you not imagine a gentlemanly reaction?”

He sat, confused, uncertain.

“To make this simple,” Signora Cenci coaxed, “you have two options. If you are not sure what I want, then you can construct some witty, sensitive line of conversation to draw me into disclosing my desires. Or you can take action, in such a way that my response will tell you more of what I want…. Do you feel able to engage in witty conversations at this moment?”